Harry Potter: Back in Time
by Darklight-phoenix
Summary: During the last battle of Hogwarts, Harry drinks a potion made by Professor Snape to bring him back to the past. Harry wakes up in Privet Drive in his cupboard as his 10/11 yr-old self - NOW BETA-ED
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own any Harry Potter characters. All characters belong to J. K. Rowling.**

A loud banging wrenched Harry away from his deep sleep. Gripping the covers in one hand and throwing them back, he groaned wearily.

"Up! Get up! Now!" a shrill voice shouted.

"I'm up, I'm up!" he mumbled. Harry blindly rolled out of a thin bear sheet and off his tiny old rickety bed, the mattress hard beneath his back. He rubbed his tired emerald eyes with his knuckles and blindly set his feet on the ground as he felt around in the darkness. He winced as he stood on a plastic toy soldier while searching for his glasses.

"Well get a move on," the voice screamed again, "I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn! I want everything to be perfect on my Duddy's special day."

After Harry found the light switch, he finally opened his eyes and found himself in his bedroom – if that's what you could call it. It was really just a small, dust filled, spider inhabited area – his cupboard of a room, under the stairs. He'd lived in there for ten years and he'd recognise the angle of the stairs and the dust in the corner of the uncovered light bulb anywhere. Looking down, his hands looked much smaller than he had remembered; additionally, his right hand no longer bore a significant scar. A sudden compulsion brought him to fumble for a small mirror in the corner of the tiny shack. Bringing the mirror in front of him, he was shocked to find his eleven year old self staring back at him.

_'What?' _Harry thought, thoroughly confused,_ 'I'm eleven again? But how?' _Fragmented recollections of a battle raced across his mind, in which a deathly pale Snape had told him something, something about… a potion – a potion that sent him back in time. All the events came rushing back to the young boy, resulting in a minor headache that pounded in his temples.

"I-I can't believe it! It worked!" Harry gasped as he checked his appearance once more.

His short, stick-thin legs and knobby knees stuck out of Dudley's hand-me-down trousers. The blisters he got from riding his Firebolt too dangerously during Quidditch matches were gone as well.

As Harry exited the little closet, memories came back to him in a violent wave of recollection. Through his tiny frame manoeuvred through the hallways of the Dursley's home – the home he had known for many years – his mind was elsewhere, even as he began to fix breakfast…

X-X-X

Harry, Hermione and Ron had left during the summer before the seventh year to search for and destroy Horcruxes. Somewhere along the way, a major drift between the three caused Ron to leave the group completely, leaving Hermione and Harry to search for the remaining horcruxes. Without him, things had become more difficult to deal with, even though Hermione did her best to support Harry.

Harry and Hermione had searched the school for the supposed last horcrux and in a last ditch effort, Harry suggested searching the Shrieking shack. Since it was well protected by the Whomping Willow, only an insane fool would think to look there… but what they found shocked them.

_"Look. At. Me," _Professor Snape said; each word was accentuated by a laboured breath, each gasp signifying a step closer to death. A quivering, bloody hand grasped at Harry's collar, pulling the boy in closely so that their noses nearly touched. Harry could smell the iron scent of blood and death upon the man before him, who lay dying on the cold floor.

_ "Potion... in robe,"_ he tried to explain coherently,_ "Drink to go back. Don't… fail me." _Though the cryptic words befuddled him, Harry nodded. As if satisfied by the boy's reply, Snape slowly closed his eyes. There was a brief expression of peaceful resignation on the professor's face before the venom from Nagini's bite finally claimed his life.

Silence momentarily engulfed them, and Harry felt as though time had stopped completely. Crouched over the dead body of perhaps the greatest mentor he had never known, Harry could not tell if hours or mere seconds had passed. He couldn't bring himself to take action.

"_Harry," _Hermione's voice shattered the silence,_ "He's dead," _she paused before continuing, _"It's too late,"_

Piercing screams could be heard in the distance, the battle still raging up at the castle. Harry took a moment to comprehend the loss of Snape, and it didn't hurt like it did with Sirius, or Moody. Back then, Harry could only watch on in hopeless dread as the ones he loved most died before him, died protecting him. Somehow, throughout the years he had acquired a newfound strength he knew not he possessed before. Perhaps it had come from Snape's influence. Snape was with him all along, helping him… protecting him. Harry knew he had a job to do, a duty to protect everyone else, much like how Snape had sacrificed himself for Harry. He would continue Snape's legacy even if it killed him. But first, a promise had to be fulfilled…

Remembering that Hermione still stood beside him, Harry told her to go ahead and help the others while he pulled a vial filled with golden liquid from Professor Snape's robe with shaking hands. He gazed down at the dead spy one more time.

"_Wish me luck," _Harry whispered to himself.

He downed the potion with one gulp. A wave of dizziness overcame him, followed by a wrench in his gut.

'_I hope it wasn't poison,' _Harry suddenly thought before an incredible wave of nausea knocked him out…

X-X-X

"I want bacon and eggs NOW!" Dudley wailed while banging his fat, ham like fists on the table, the sound bringing Harry's thoughts to the present world, much to his chagrin.

"Hurry up with the breakfast, boy!" Vernon bellowed at his nephew, even though he could plainly see that Harry was simultaneously frying the eggs and bacon, as well as preparing the coffee.

It was going to be one of those mornings.

X-X-X

"I have thirty…thirty..." Dudley screwed up his face and began trying to count his presents after breakfast. He had insurmountable trouble doing so, unable to number each gift in the mountain they'd created, which were all wrapped in brightly coloured paper and arranged in the living room.

"Thirty six sweetums," Petunia's sickeningly sweet voice told her son.

"But that's two less than last year!" Dudley exclaimed in anguish, balling his hands into fists and slamming them down. "It's not fair!"

Harry sighed dejectedly at the scene, not missing this chaos. It had always been the same tantrum for many years, he remembered.

As Harry washed the dirty dishes at the kitchen sink, the fated phone call came. He knew the outcome before Aunt Petunia put down the phone, a scowl on her horse-like face. "Vernon, Mrs. Figg broke her leg last week," she said in disbelief, "She can't take in the boy." The last phrase was uttered in clear disgust.

Although Mr. Dursley tried to put up nonchalance, his panic at having to deal with the boy was starting to show. "What about your friend…umm, Yvonne?" he suggested.

"She's on vacation in Majorca. What about Marge?"

Harry felt his stomach drop_. 'Oh please not Aunt Marge,'_ Harry internally pleaded, _'She's probably going to torture me with Ripper or something,'_

Suddenly, he was struck with a highly-improbable, but still-possible epiphany.

"Err, A-Aunt Petunia, I could spend the day outside?" Harry suggested in a small voice.

Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned, pursed and ready to reprimand him.

Dudley, seeing his chance of getting rid of him wailed at his mother, "I don't want _him _ruining my birthday!"

"No, Duddy-poo," she said, turning to her son, her voice softened as if Dudley was two instead of eleven. "He won't ruin it," Petunia crooned at her son, ruffling his blonde hair. Petunia looked up at Vernon, her head tilted as if to say 'that's not a bad idea, just lock him out.'

It took Vernon a second to grasp his wife's meaning, but when he did he turned from his wife and son to face his nephew.

"Fine," he spat at his nephew, "But you are not to come within ten feet of the house till we come home! I don't want you blowing up our home, got it?"

Harry immediately assured his uncle that he would not be at home.

As the family began preparing for their outing, Aunt Petunia pulled Harry over to the side. She shoved a few bills into his hand and immediately left.

'_Wow, Aunt Petunia does have a heart,'_ Harry thought sardonically._ 'Why didn't I see this before? But then again, I never knew magic existed,' _Harry thought, laughing internally.

Harry's musings were interrupted when his uncle shouted from the door. "And what do you find so funny, boy?" he asked menacingly. "I swear, if I find one thing out of line…" his uncle rambled on and on, but Harry tuned him out. He was only too used to it.

Harry nodded solemnly and smiled inside, _'Diagon Alley, here I come!'_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter. All characters belong to J. K. Rowling**

Harry sighed in relief as he watched the Dursleys' car pull out of the drive way, with Dudley and his cousin's friend Piers loaded into the back seat. The memory of going to the zoo with them was still quite fresh in his mind, even though it had been seven years ago. The snake was still one of the highlights for him, even if he had to spend ages in his cupboard for making the glass enclosure disappear.

Harry paced the sidewalk, uncertain of summoning the night Bus.

'I don't have a wand, but maybe if I stick out my hand…' Harry thought as he glanced up and down the street, reassuring himself that no one would notice before he stretched his right hand out.

A burst of air knocked him back and Harry felt relief that turned into confusion. A dark blue triple-decker bus appeared before him, jolting to a stop. Harry's brows furrowed – it looked a lot different from the last time he rode it to escape from the Dursleys in his third year.

"Is this the Knight Bus?" Harry asked uncertainly.

The bus conductor, Stan Shunpike, looked at Harry as if he were crazy. "Of course we're the Knight Bus! What else did you think this was?" he exclaimed, flashing a ridiculous toothy grin.

Stan looked the same the last time Harry saw him in his third year; in fact, he looked even wilder and crazier than he usually did. Apparently, the bus, on the other hand, sported a new look that lacked the beds, uncurtained windows, and candled bracelets.

'_Of course,'_ Harry thought, _'it's daytime now. So stupid.'_ He scolded himself for acting so foolish.

"Where's your parents kid? Surely you're too young to go out on your own?" the conductor asked in his cockney accent, looking concerned.

Harry hesitated. He wasn't prepared for this question, although he should have been. It took him off guard.

"Um…my uncle's at the Ministry to do some business. I'm to meet him at Diagon alley." Harry made up on the spot.

"Alright then, hop on," the driver said. "The cost's fourteen Sickles with hot chocolate. We accept Muggle money too," he continued.

Harry counted out five Muggle pounds and accepted a steaming hot mug of hot chocolate.

"So what's your name kid?" the driver, Ern, asked conversationally as he tucked away the money.

"Har-err-Luke Alexander Snape," Harry said without thinking.

"Alright then. Take a seat," he told the raven-haired teen, before taking off.

Harry gazed around at the occupants of the bus before choosing a seat. Few seats were occupied by moth-eaten old witches and an eccentric pair of wizards wearing hats that were taller than Harry. His bright, emerald green eyes met the dark, obsidian eyes of one Severus Snape as he passed by.

'_Could this day get any worse?'_ Harry whined internally, feeling the urge to bang his head against a metal pole.

Severus had recognised those bright green eyes - Lily's eyes - the moment Harry peeked inside the door. Harry's choice of name shocked Snape even more than his eyes did, causing him to drop the newspaper that he had been gripping onto his lap in a crumpled mess.

'_What is Potter playing at?'_ he mused.

He smirked at the boy, but Harry just pretended to ignore the icy stare sent his way and gazed out the window, acting as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Meanwhile, his thoughts were flying at one hundred miles per hour, 'Think, Harry, think. You just used the last name of the person who's sitting right across from you. Avoid him forever? Pretend not to know him? That's it! I'm not supposed to know him yet; I'll just act like I don't know him,' Harry smiled inwardly.

After an eternity, the bus arrived at Diagon Alley. Harry got off the bus as swiftly as his short legs would carry him but Severus Snape, trailing behind, stopped him.

"Harry Potter," Severus sneered, "Would you care to explain why you're gallivanting around London using _my name_ as yours?"

A few people passing by listened eagerly to their conversation.

"Potter? I'm sorry sir, but you must be mistaken. My name is Luke, though I would like to meet the Boy-Who-Lived," Harry told him apologetically.

It would have been sincere… except the boy looked as if he were trampled by a horde of hippogriffs.

The Potions Master barked at the nosy-strangers, before they hurriedly left, leaving Snape and Harry alone.

"Follow me," Severus said.

"My aunt told me never to talk to strangers," Harry said, on guard, still pretending feigning ignorance of the mans' identity.

Snape caught him by the neck and pushed him to the wall. He looked down his nose while his dark obsidian eyes drilled into Potter's emerald green ones.

"What are you doing out here?" Snape asked in his gruff oily voice, demanding an answer to his question.

Any eleven year old in place of Harry would have gulped and started to cry but Harry smile was bordering on a smirk. "I'm sorry but I'm only taking in the sights," he said looking around the street and not into Snape's knowing eyes.

Snape however was neither amused nor believed him and he simply refused to let Harry go. With a strong hold on his shoulder, Snape steered him into the Leaky Cauldron and pushed him unceremoniously into a private booth.

He moved his hand in a pattern, setting up wards around the table so as not to be disturbed or overheard. Harry recognised the routine, but kept his ten-year-old face showing the necessary amount of shock and awe.

Satisfied that he had done his job well enough to ensure their privacy, Snape once again turned to Harry and let their eyes meet.

Harry, realising what Snape was trying to do, hastily tried to shield his mind. Imagining an invisible shield around his memories and his closest thoughts, he pushed his memories of when he was ten to the surface and made a few memories up that were bound to distract the Slytherin Head of House.

Severus in his sense of superiority on the other hand began to swim through the child's surface memories, the ones Harry had fabricated.

"Why did you lie to me?" he asked in a passive voice, averting his gaze from him.

Harry decided to play the part of the scared child that he had proved himself to be and started shaking and mumbling incoherently. Snape, clearly annoyed by the act, banged his fist on the table and, pointing a finger threateningly, asked him, "Why did you lie?" whilst pausing after every word.

Harry took the opportunity and started to speak but only slightly higher than a whisper, "I…I overheard my Aunt…she said that my mum was a witch…" He started to stammer, "I was so… so confused and… and didn't know what to do…" Harry then looked at Snape and wrung his hands together like a frightened child. "I… I was about to run to my room… when she said that she'd set my mo… mother's letters on fire… burn them…get rid of everything I had left."

Snape sneered at his words, glaring at Harry as he beckoned for him to continue. He would not allow himself to be overruled by grief at this moment.

Harry clasped his throat trying to fake choking. With a swish of Snape's wand, he filled the glass in front of him with crystal clear water.

Gulping the contents of the glass, Harry tried to remain impassive, not knowing how long he could feign ignorance, but it seemed that he was doing well so far. Keeping up with the façade he continued with his tale, making it up as he went. "I did the only thing I could think of… I went to the attic that night and looked for the letters." Tentatively, he raised his head, making the older wizard arch a dark eyebrow in response.

"What letters?" he asked in his trademark oily voice. Snape had a knack for making others feel tiny, but looking at the small boy in front of him, he almost had the heart to pity him.

"Letters… letters addressed to my aunt, when she was young," Harry answered before quickly looking down to avoid meeting Snape's eyes. He was pulling at straws, but Snape's response left him more confused. _'What? He believes me?'_ he thought wildly,_ 'Why would the Slytherin be interested in my mother's letters? Did my mum even have any?'_

"In those letters, my mother had written about a world of ma… magic. About her School… her friends. A Wizarding street called Dia… Dia-" but that's where Snape cut in.

"Diagon alley?" he asked.

Harry simply nodded.

Snape knew something wasn't right but he couldn't put his finger on it. He had already tried Legilimency on the boy and he had proved to be innocent, but there was something more to him…maturity maybe or a different level of intellect from other children his age. No, something was obviously odd about Young Mr. Potter and he would get to the root of it, by hook or by crook.

"Go. Back. Home," Snape whispered with a pause after every word. It was the tone of voice he used to control insolent students, a voice that left no room for hesitation or obedience.

Harry, deciding not the cross Snape, got up to leave and started walking.

"Wait," Snape's voice said from behind, making Harry stop dead in his tracks. A shiver went down his spine, goosebumps running to the tips of his fingers.

'_Had Snape figured out that I've been lying all this time?'_ Harry thought.

Slowly, Harry spun on his heels to face Snape, though he kept his eyes glued to the dirty ground in an attempt to avoid making contact. The man was sharp, and any flicker of emotion could result in a slip that Snape would undoubtedly catch.

Drinking from his goblet Snape said, "I'll see you on the day you receive your Hogwarts letter. Until then, don't even think about venturing into the Wizarding world by yourself, you foolish boy!"

Harry nodded reverently and dashed out of the pub, down the street and took the first Muggle bus back home.

Harry's thoughts were going haywire. _'How come I saw Snape the first day back from the past? Was it a coincidence?'_

With a new resolve and determination to make amends, Harry looked out the window to see the sun set in the orange horizon; the clouds illuminated a dull gold over the ever-present London smog.


End file.
